The Haunting of Dick Grayson
by Terminus Verso
Summary: The Wayne Manor is haunted. No one, not even Alfred, knew when the haunting started. The only thing they did know was that the ghost had a knack for warning members of the household of incoming danger. Dick was the first person to ever be warned by the ghost. Years ago, when he still went by the moniker Robin, he experienced a supernatural event.
1. Chapter 1

Dick was beyond tried. He sluggishly stumbled to his room after a long night of crime fighting. When he reached his room he immediately trudged over to his bed. Alfred is a saint. The supposedly non-superpowered butler predicted he would want to go to bed when he returned from patrol, so Dick was already dressed in his absurdly bright and colorful pajamas. He lazily crawled under his fluffy blue blanket and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Dick was sleeping peacefully in his bed until he felt someone roughly shaking him. "Mm, five more minutes." Dick sleepily mumbled, burying himself further into his blanket. Thankfully the shaking stopped. He let out a pleased sigh and welcomed the feeling of slumber washing over him. A sudden chill went down his spine – which should be impossible since he is covered by the warmest blanket in history – filling him with a sense of terror. With the glorious feeling of sleep thoroughly chased away by the unnerving chill, he laid quietly in bed, unmoving or showing any indication he is awake.

His trained ears picked up the sound of two pairs of footsteps, they were too loud to be Bruce or Alfred. _Did someone break into the manor?_ He continued to feign sleep, but internally he was panicking, his panic increased even more when the footsteps came to halt in front of his bedroom door. The sound of his heart pounded in his ears. A long agonizing silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity. Dick hoped they decided to leave, but that hope was shattered when the sound of his door creaking open echoed throughout the room. His eyes snapped open and he stared at his wall in anticipation.

He wanted to scream for Bruce or Alfred to help him. Sadly, the two were still in the batcave and wouldn't be able to hear his cries for help. _Why do I have to be a defenseless ward?! Plenty of people learn some kind of marital art or form of self-defense._ Before he knew it the view of his bedroom wall shifted to his floor. _What the hell!_ He would have yelped or made some other sound of pain when he hit the floor face first – without an audible thump for some strange reason – but his mouth refused to open. No matter how hard he tried his vocal cords wouldn't make a single sound. Dick went to get off the floor only to find his limps felt like they were full of lead. None of his muscles would twitch. He was frozen, unable to speak, and possibly in danger.

 _This is bad. Where is Alfred the psychic butler when I need him?! Better yet, WHERE THE HELL IS BRUCE? One of the many security systems has to of gone off._ He laid paralyzed on the floor with baited breath. Eventually the door fully opened and the criminal duo cautiously crept into his room. "You idiot!" Someone whisper yelled, their voice is rough and masculine. "I thought you said this was the brat's room." _How do they know this is my room?_ At least they can't see him… And he can't see them. Dick couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not considering he is paralyzed. Meaning he would not be able to fight back if they did find him. "It has to be. It's decorated and everything." Another more feminine voice whispered back. A man and a woman. He definitely need to investigate them later. That is if he made it out of this situation unscathed.

"Yeah, but in case you haven't notice the brat is not here! Come on, let's get out of here before someone realizes we broke in." The male hissed. There was the soft sound of a person quietly retreating followed by a loud exaggerated sigh. "Of course we chose the one night the brat is sleeping over at a friend's house." The male grumbled to himself, not even bothering to sneak out of the room. He listened to the man angrily stomped away, releasing the breath he didn't know he was holding. "What the hell?" Dick whispered, eyes widening when he spoke. So he could speak now. Does that mean he can move too? To test his theory, he jumped off the ground and back flipped onto his night stand. "Yes!" he whispered, careful not to be too loud in case the two intruders were still nearby. Now it was time to go get Bruce. A sudden thought occurred to him and a look of horror spread across his face.

 _Wait! If Bruce and Alfred are still in the cave, who was shaking me?!_ Dick frantically looked around his room, there is no indication his room was broken into before the criminals, but disturbingly enough there is an indentation of a pair of feet in the carpet by his bed. He instantly knew the foot prints did not belong to either of the potential kidnappers. They were too small, and the duo never walked far enough in the room to leave a mark there. Based on the size and depth of the print he could assume the marks were made by a teen. Possibly fourteen to sixteen depending on that person's growth rate. _Is the manor haunted? Man, Wally is going to hate me when I bring this up._

"Dick, are you okay?" Bruce shouted from the hall, his voice was uncharacteristically laced with emotion. Mainly worry and fear. So they did set something off when they broke in. Good to know. "Y-yeah, I'm alright." Dick yelled back, walking over to his ajar bedroom door. He opened the door all the way and was meet with the sight of his worried father, who promptly began searching him for injures. "Some of the motion detectors went off. The two culprits seem to have escaped. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Y-yeah." Dick said, uncertainly. Bruce eyed him skeptically, mouth drawn into a thin line, obviously not believing his answer but did not pushing the subject any further. _Am I okay? No. Not only was I almost kidnapped, I was also shaken by a ghost. Should I tell Bruce? Yeah, no. He'll think I am crazy. Now that I think about it if the ghost hadn't woken me up I might have slept through my kidnapping._ Another chill when down his spine. _But I am totally_ _ **not**_ _sleeping in a haunted room tonight._ Bruce looked like he was about to leave. _Now or never._ "H-hey, Bruce. Can I sleep in your room tonight?" Dick asked nervously, a light pink blush on his cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

"And that's why I need to talk to Zatanna." Robin's words seemed to echo across the Cave's empty kitchen. No one is in the Cave at the moment, aside from him and one other person. His best friend - Kid Flash, AKA Wally West - sat in front of him with a look of disbelief. This did not come as a surprise. Dick knew last night's tale would cause great skepticism in his friend, but he recounted the events regardless. After all, how often does he have an excuse to rub the mystic and supernatural right in Wally's disbelieving face?

Answer: Not very often. Surprisingly.

So, Dick is going to cherish this moment for as long as possible. And when Wally finally becomes a believer, he'll hold it over him for the rest of his life. You know, like best friends do. Never allow their friend to forget a great moment of ignorance. The redhead deserves it, too. Every time they go out for ice cream, Wally always brings up 'The Vanilla Scoop Incident'. An embarrassing event that almost makes Dick wish he had fallen with his parents. Almost...

Kid Flash frowned and scoffed, "Robin, ghosts are scientifically impossible. How can you be sure it wasn't a strange case of sleep paralysis?"

"Then how would you explain why I ended up on the floor?" Robin shot back. Sleep paralysis is (almost) exactly what it sounds like. Being partially awake/falling asleep and paralyzed. Though, he had to admit he probably would have believed that explanation if a ghost hadn't literally shoved him off his bed.

Dick watched as his friend's face scrunched up in thought. "... An earthquake?"

 _Really? An earthquake, Wally? That's your answer? And here I thought you were an asterous keeper of all scientific knowledge._ Robin chose to reply in the most Bat-esque way possible. He raised a single eyebrow, narrowing his eyes. "It could have been an unknown sleep phenomenon, like sleepwalking!" His friend quickly (but not speedster quickly) added.

 _He is getting really desperate..._

He shook his head and sighed. "You're just grasping at straws, Kid."

"I refuse to believe my best friend was saved by a nonexistent entity!" Wally declared, crossing his arms.

Robin opened his mouth to reply, but something caught his attention. A mechanical voice echoed throughout the Cave, announcing 'Recognized: Zatanna - B08'. He glanced at the speaker then back at his friend. Wally nodded. Dick made a vague hand gesture in response. Who said he only needed to be on nonverbal communication terms with Batman? No one, that's who. Besides, he and Wally have been friends long enough for him to have a general understanding of Batlanguage, which is pretty much just a series of grunt and noncommittal noises, limited facial expressions, and vague gestures. Certainly not as easy to learn as French. It takes practice, commitment, and being friends with the ward of an emotionally stunted man-child.

Wally rolled his eyes and smirked as if to say 'Good luck on your quest, which I totally don't believe in'.

Robin smirked in return before dashing toward the Zeta-Tubes. "I'll make you a believer one day!"

"I would sooner believe Zatanna actually uses magic!" Wally called after him.

"That can be arranged!" He shouted back.

Robin zipped and turned through the halls at a speed that would make a speedster proud. For a reason, too; Not because running through halls is fun. He wanted to catch Zatanna before she decides to leave, which is probably unneeded since she just got there. But he couldn't pass up the opportunity to get answers to an important question. A very important question: How does one thank a ghost? Trying to thank the specter without any knowledge on how to do so probably wouldn't end well. And Bruce wouldn't be happy if Dick got the Manor cursed or something... Plus, he really doesn't want to break some unspoken rule of ghost etiquette. Assuming they have a form of etiquette, of course.

With his cheetah-like swiftness, Robin reached the Hanger in record time. The used Zeta-Tube has obviously powered down, and standing right in front of it is his target. A black-haired, blue-eyed beauty he may or may not have a crush on. Zatanna's back is turned to him. She seemed to be doing something on her phone, perhaps?

Nevertheless, Robin rushed up to her and gave her a vigorous greeting, "Hey, Zatanna! Do you know any good ways to thank a ghost?"

Naturally, she yelped - fumbling with whatever sat in her hands for a bit longer than expected - before whirling around, fist readied. When Zatanna noticed it was him, she relaxed some. "Jesus! Don't do that, I nearly punched you!" The yell echoed softly.

"Sorry, Z! I didn't think I'd catch you that off guard." Robin said, apologetically. _Out of everything, I think I'll be happy she went with a punch. God only knows what would happen if she didn't... Like a dangerous, errant spell._

"Well, you did." Zatanna huffed. "So why exactly did you come rushing at me like a bat out of hell?"

As he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, Robin repeated the question, "Do you know any good ways to thank a ghost?"

She furrowed her brows and pondered the inquiry. "There are a few. Why do you ask?"

A good question. Thankfully, Zatanna will be more willing to believe his answer than Wally. "A ghost helped me out recently and I want an asterous way to thank them." It would be rude not to thank them. Not to mention, impolite. Alfred would be disappointed in him - in any circumstances - if he were to not properly thank someone.

Zatanna crossed her arms and shifted from one foot to the other. "Hmm, I see... Well, all ghosts like different things, but you can never go wrong with a food offering."

A food offering? That is the perfect solution. And it doesn't involve sacrificing a young virgin or goat! But what would be a good offering? Broccoli? Yeah, no. Few people in the world can appreciate that accursed vegetable; Most who do are adults. So, no. He will not subject his savior to the horrors of broccoli or vegetables... even if Alfred can make them taste somewhat decent. Chicken? Beef? That seems like a bit much. If the ghost never finds Dick's offering, the meat would spoil, smell, and likely invoke the wrath of Alfred. Which is not something even Bruce would risk. No one wants on Alfred's bad side.

The offering needs to be something that doesn't perish quickly and isn't too big or too small. A dessert? Like a- Dick's eyes widened. _Cookies! Alfred's chocolate chip cookies would be perfect! No spectral entity would be able to resist them. It has already been proven neither humans nor aliens can resist them! So, why would ghosts be able to do the impossible?_

Robin gave a wide grin before bounding toward the nearest Zeta-Tube. "Thanks, Zatanna!"

As the machine whirred to life, preparing to transport him back to Gotham, he heard Zatanna shouting at him, "Be careful, Robin. And remember: Ghost aren't creatures to be trifled with!"


	3. Chapter 3

Author Note: Thank you for all the lovely comments, and for being patient with me! This story is, unfortunately, over. _However_ , I do intend to have a few 'sequel' stories involving other members of the Batfamily. So, keep an eye out for the next story: _The Haunting of Jason Todd_!

* * *

A plate of delectable chocolate chip cookies sat upon an antique dresser; Their chocolaty, soft form would no doubt summon the desired being. Or Bruce. The cookies could very well summon Bruce, too. But Dick held hope the ghost would find them first. He does not want his father figure to discover him messing with anything considered 'magical'. (Dick really doesn't want to explain his actions either. If he did, then all kinds of wards and barriers would be erected to keep out the ghost. A ghost who does not deserve to be chased out after protecting him. That would be too cruel. And certainly not befitting of a hero.) Bruce loathes anything and everything related to magic. For good reasons, or so he is told. Sure, magic makes as much sense as string theory and can be extremely annoying to deal with, but that's no reason to hate it with such strength.

They have faced far worse forces. Non-magical beings like the Joker, Penguin, Bane, Deathstroke, and etc. Not to mention, there are plenty of heroic mages and magicians and wizards. So why should they judge mystical creatures poorly purely because they are magical in nature?

There is no right answer to that question.

For Bruce, his distrust is built from past experiences and paranoia. But if Dick ever wants to get the chance to ride a unicorn, he needs to make Bruce more open-minded about the fantastical world of magic. Starting with Harry Potter, maybe? That or Lord of The Rings.

Dick sighed, staring longingly at the plate from his perch on the wardrobe. His worries are likely unfounded. If anything, he is more a danger to the cookies than anything else. Bruce rarely wanders around this section of the Manor. No one does. It is the least visited and most un-lived in part of the Manor. (The perfect place to summon spirits when your father figure greatly disapproves of magic.) And creepy. Dick hadn't known any rooms in the Manor could be so... _unsettling_. Sheer white sheets covered the furniture, aside from the dresser. The very, very unnerving dresser. A large ornate mirror sat atop the piece of furniture. With its' wood carved frame and odd floral designs, the dresser is the hideous centerpiece of the room. That's saying a lot coming from him. Many people have told him he has the worst fashion sense imaginable. Even Alfred. The butler has gone as far as to burn some of Dick's least acceptable clothes.

 _Rest in peace, blue, yellow, and mahogany plaid-polka dot flannel. There will never be a shirt like you again. And if there was, Alfred would burn it faster than the top of a well-prepared creme brulee._

Convincing Alfred to make the cookies was an interesting experience. He regaled his pseudo-grandfather with the tale of his supernatural encounter, and Alfred reluctantly agreed to bake the chocolaty sweets. Though not before making a quip about Dick's weight, 'Master Dick... If you're not careful, you may find yourself to be no longer light as a feather.' He still isn't quite sure if he should be offended or not. Sure, Dick has been eating more desserts recently, but... nightly vigilantism burns all those calories, right? It feels like it does.

He tapped his foot, impatiently, glaring at the dresser. _Ugh! This is taking forever. Ghost, how can you possibly resist Alfred's cookies? And let perfectly good chocolate chip cookies go cold?!_

 _...You monster._

Suddenly, something peculiar drew him out of his internal complaining. An unearthly glow flitted around the room's single window before coming inside and leisurely floating to the dresser.

"Woah..." Dick whispered in awe. A form manifested before his very eyes. Slow but surely fading into reality, is a boy. A teen to be exact. Possibly fourteen, if Dick were to guess. The phantom's features became more and more clear as his body lost its' transparency. Locks like a raven's feathers sat atop his savior's head. Chilling blue eyes akin to the freezing ice of the Tundra reflected in the mirror. And his skin- God, it held the same pasty white quality as printer paper or freshly fallen snow.

It is both terrifying and fascinating. But mostly terrifying. 'Cause, you know, it is the spooky apparition of a dead teen. Who happens to be shockingly similar to himself in appearance.

 _Black hair... Blue eyes..._ Dick sighed, internally. _Of course, the Wayne Manor ghost has black hair and blue eyes._

 _Maybe the Manor is cursed to attract people with those traits? It wouldn't be the weirdest curse in the world._

He watched silently as the specter eyed the plate suspiciously, leaving Dick to wonder ' _How can you not trust cookies?_ ' After a few moments, the ghastly hero finished his appraisal and deemed the offering worthy. A pale hand reached forward, gently grasping the plate. Then the teen's form started to fade away.

 _No! He's leaving!_

Dick leaped into action, hopping down from his hiding place and shouting, "W-wait! I wanted to say thanks, y-you know, for saving me."

The phantom jolted and swung around, shock evident on his face. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before the ghost teen smiled and slowly vanished. With the plate of cookies.

 _Man... I hope Alfred wasn't horribly attached to that plate because I don't think it will ever be seen again._

Dick froze and thought back to the details on the lost dish: A thin golden rim, sparkling white porcelain, smooth edges, a tasteful design in the middle-

"Damn it, that was the fine china! Alfred is going to kill me!"

* * *

The moon had arisen to its' peak hours ago. Moonlight filtered through the wispy clouds, shining down upon Wayne Manor's vast property. Hidden in plain sight, on the un-surveyed corner of the Manor's roof, is a translucent form. A young teen. The exact one Dick saw an hour prior. Except his raven-colored hair is now snow white and his eyes are a bright, neon green. A plate of chocolate chip cookies sat in his hand; The other non-occupied hand brought a cookie up to his mouth. He took a bite and hummed, looking out to the shadowy walls bordering the Manor.

With an echo, his ethereal voice sounded, "I should probably stick around for the next few nights, in case those chatty Talons come back."


End file.
